“I am truly sorry for all that you had to endure,” she says. “And you did so because you had news for me?”

I cannot tell if it is my imagination or if her interest is especially piqued. Is she thinking of the prisoner she ordered forgotten? Or is there some other news she is hoping for?

“I do. Tragic news. I am afraid that Margot is dead.”

Her pale face grows even paler. “Dead?”

“Yes, Madame.” Much to my surprise, my eyes begin to water, and I must blink fiercely to keep them from spilling over. Of all the people with whom I would share my grief, the regent is near the last of my list.

“When?”

“Six days before the royal wedding.”

“Why did the count not inform me of this immediately?”

“I am certain he did not wish to darken a joyous occasion with such news.”

“That was most thoughtful of him.” Her tone is dry. She drums her fingers on the chair arm a moment before asking. “What did she die of?”

I have but a heartbeat or two to decide whether to tell the truth or to protect Count Angoulême. “She died giving birth to Count Angoulême’s bastard.”

Madame’s nostrils flare, and her head rears back slightly before she turns to look out the window. “I am sorry,” she says. In those words I hear not only sorrow that Margot has passed, but that Madame herself has placed her in such circumstances. She turns back to me. “How is Louise taking all this?”

I must tread carefully here. “Louise is much concerned with her own pregnancy, and in doing her duty by the count, as you have instructed her. She is sad for Margot’s passing, of course, but is not dwelling on it lest the melancholy damage her own babe.”

Madame gives a brusque nod of approval. “That is most wise of her.” She tilts her head and examines me. “And what of you?” Her voice is as gentle as I’ve ever heard it. “The two of you have been together nearly your whole life, as I understand it.”

I am impressed that she remembers that much about us with as many girls as she fosters. “I miss her terribly. It is why I volunteered to bring the news myself. It is too difficult to be in Cognac surrounded by reminders of Margot.”

Because I am so practiced in remaining guarded all the time, it is hard to let the truth of these words show on my face, but she must see something that convinces her. “Poor Genevieve. And you recently lost your father as well, or so Count Angoulême told me in one of his letters.”

I school my features so that the surprise I feel will not show. “That is true, although I have not seen him for longer than ten years and can hardly remember him.”

She brings her hand up to her chin, one long, slim finger tapping her lips. “And your mother died when you were . . . ?”

“Born, Madame. She died when I was born, and my father’s mother lived with him and cared for me until she, too, died.”

“So you truly are all alone in this world now.”

“Yes.” Hidden in the folds of my skirt, my hands clench into fists. No.

“Well, I am sorry for the nature of what brings you here, but I cannot be sad to see you.”

This is unexpected. I would not have guessed that she would have thought twice about my absence, since it was she who arranged it.

She studies me a moment before rising from her chair and crossing to the window to stare out into the courtyard. “You know that the king is married now, and a new queen sits beside him.”

Is this some veiled warning she is giving me? “But of course. I wish them both much joy and good health.”

She casts me an unreadable glance. “This is a marriage of political expediency. One for the good of the crown. We all miss our dear dauphine very much.”

“I am sorry, Madame.” I’m somewhat taken aback by her admission. I don’t think we’ve exchanged words before that did not involve instructions of some kind. Or a reprimand.

“But”—?she turns from the window abruptly, her face animated—?“your timing is most fortunate, and I believe there is a role for you to play here at court.”

It is all I can do not to gape at her. I only wanted for her to believe my story so I could remain in Plessis long enough to seduce the king, but now she is claiming she has need of me? “Of course, Madame. I am happy to serve however I can.”

Just as long as it does not come between me and my own plans.

“One of the things I have always admired about you is your pragmatism. That and your wit.”

“My wit, my lady?”

“Oh, you try to hide it from everyone, but there is a keen intelligence inside that head of yours. Although you are correct in remaining humble about it,” she is quick to add. The regent returns to her desk, carefully adjusts her skirts, then resumes her seat before pinning me with a direct gaze. “You know that the duchess of Brittany and the crown have been on opposite sides of a conflict for a long while now.”

I nod.

“The duchess—?Ah! But I keep forgetting to call her the queen! The queen is young and beautiful and determined to maintain Brittany’s independence at any cost. In short, I do not trust her.”

This is precisely the sort of news the convent would have dearly loved to know—?if it still existed. “It is not hard to see why, Madame.”

“But, as I said, she is young and beautiful, and the king shows signs of being somewhat inclined to indulge her.”

I say nothing, but simply nod. In truth, I am speechless at the confidences pouring from her mouth.

“Now that there is an official queen, it makes my own position somewhat more difficult. That is where you come in.”

I blink, feeling like I have missed something. I understand that she fears being misplaced by this new queen—?it is no doubt one of the reasons she misses the young dauphine, who was like a daughter to her.

She picks up a quill from her desk and runs her fingers along the neatly trimmed feathers. “You have long held the king’s affection. For the good of the interests of the crown, I think it would be wise for you to remain at court and reawaken that interest, pursue it to its fullest measure.”

It takes me a moment to digest her words. “You mean, you wish me to sleep with him?”

Her fingers stop playing with the feathers and she points the quill in my direction. “I want you to see to his every comfort. He is king, after all.”

I must look incredulous. Or mayhap she thinks I have misunderstood her, for she lean

s across the table. “I wish you to become his new mistress.”

“But, Madame!” A distant roar of outrage tries to escape. If she had not sent us to Cognac, then Margot might still be alive. I ruthlessly shove that knowledge aside. “You specifically instructed me to do everything I could to dissuade his interest. Including sending me away!”

“Things change. Times change. But France’s needs must always come first.”

And that’s when the fullness of her plan comes to me. “You wish me to sleep with the king so I can share whatever I learn with you.”

She smiles as if I am her most prized pupil. “There is that wit that sets you apart.”

I am stunned with both the audacity of her plan and the sheer hypocrisy of it. Does she realize she is acting the procurer?

But what leaves me truly breathless is that she has just swept the legs out from under my own plan. Found a way to use it for her own end. She has run out of leverage to bend the king to her wishes, so now wishes to use me as coin.

“Madame . . .”

She puts her hand up to stop my words, her mouth a flat line of displeasure. “Do not say anything you will regret, Genevieve. Do not forget the debt you owe us—?me—?for taking you in, training you in the ways of being a lady, honoring your family by showing you such favor.”

“Madame, as you know, I was convent raised until I came to court. Will you have me go against the very precepts of the Church? I cannot help but think they would frown most severely upon what you suggest. Especially with the king so newly married.”

She huffs out a breath. “Kings have always been given great leeway in these matters by the Church, as do the women who serve them.”

“What if the queen finds out? Won’t she try to have me removed from court?”

A secretive smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I will worry about the queen. Your job will be to keep the king happy. Do we have an agreement?”

As she studies me, waiting for my answer, I am filled with disappointment. Not only for the task she has asked of me, but that she is the one to ask it. Of all the woman I have known, she is the one who wields the most power. She has commanded armies, conducted treaties, presided over every formal gathering imaginable. She has heads of state and bishops, cardinals and even the pope at her disposal. With all the tools available to her, in the end this is the plan she turns to.

Tags: Robin LaFevers His Fair Assassin Fantasy
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